


greased lightning

by kamalakhan



Category: Fantastic Four, Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Slight Smut, a pwp but with -5 porn and +5 feelings, peter loves johnny and so should you, unbetaed unedited and probably unreadable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-21 14:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18703879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamalakhan/pseuds/kamalakhan
Summary: Johnny teaches Peter a way of remembering the four strokes of an engine: suck, squeeze, bang, blow.





	greased lightning

**Author's Note:**

> i literally wrote this in one night after smoking some weed so if its bad its not my fault i swear officer  
> i have a final on a course im taking about cars coming up and someone told me that you remember the strokes using 'suck, squeeze, bang, blow' and depressingly this was practically my first thought. i looked it up and apparently its well known enough to be in the wikipedia entry about four stroke engines so make of that what you will
> 
> this is my first try writing spideytorch, and i seem to be incapable of writing actual smut so it's basically just peter thinking to himself about how he loves johnny but really, what more do you want?  
> i know nothing about canon so its set in some v nebulous future where theyre married (bc why not) and live at the baxter building with the rest of the ff but it's not that important tbh lol
> 
> the song mentioned (other than greased lightning) is [drive my car](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kfSQkZuIx84) by the beatles, and [this](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1f/1953_Buick_Special-2.jpg) is the car

Like a lot of things that went wrong in Peter’s life, he felt justified enough laying the blame for the whole situation squarely at Johnny's feet. Johnny had been the one who decided he wanted to go back to school and finally get qualified as a mechanic – while he wasn’t quite sure what had led to this decision ( _What happens at interdimensional poker night stays at interdimensional poker night, Pete, which you’d_ know _if you ever showed up-)_ , he felt fairly sure Ben was involved, judging by the smug aura that radiated from his rocky features whenever he was there to witness Johnny complain about his course load. 

This happened often, but as Peter, the person with the dubious honour of sharing a bed with Johnny every night, could attest to, it happened even more regularly when Ben wasn’t there. Nevertheless, Peter was resolved to be a supportive husband, and only gave him shit about it when he really really deserved it. Surprising a lot of people (including himself, Peter thought wryly), Johnny had almost made it through his entire first year already, with only his final exams to go.

As previous revision sessions with Reed attempting to coach him had shown, Reed was too easily distracted to be much use: the last had ended with a distinctly glazed over Johnny being lectured on the finer points of string theory. It was, as Peter was informed at great length, _embarrassing_ to ask your sister for help, and even Peter knew better than to suggest he talk to Ben about it.

_(“You realize this only leaves you with one option for help.”_

Johnny had refused to talk to him for three days when he’d suggested Val.)  

* * *

 Evening revision sessions didn’t happen often, due mainly to Peter’s nocturnal swinging schedule, but whenever Peter wound up sitting cross-legged in bed across from Johnny, quizzing him on the finer points of the reciprocating piston engine, he found himself a little choked up at the sight. Johnny Storm, his _husband_ , hair casually mussed and still damp from the shower because _flaming on just to dry my hair is really bad for it, Pete, ever heard of heat damage,_ dressed in an old ESU T-shirt that had definitely belonged to Peter at some point and plaid pyjama pants, getting way too involved in the stupid trivia game Peter had started with the sole purpose of mercilessly playing on his competitive streak. This particular time, it was early evening, dusk just falling through the ridiculously large windows covering practically the entire outside wall of the bedroom directly across from where Peter sat. Peter, out of commission for the night, having sustained a particularly nasty concussion in the early hours of the morning and been beaten into submission by his worried husband when he attempted to leave for patrol in the afternoon, had been relegated to the grand role of quizmaster.

Muted rays of sunlight illuminated Johnny’s blond locks, making him look almost ethereally beautiful in a way that made Peter’s heart clutch and his fingers itch for his camera. Something about the softness, the unguardedness to Johnny as he fought to break his record of amount of questions answered correctly in under a minute, the poise and camera-ready smile of his public persona fallen away, made Peter ache. It felt like a privilege, still, getting to see him like this. Clearly, Peter thought in hindsight, Johnny was able to smell his sappiness like a shark smelling blood and waited for the perfect time to pounce on his poor, infatuated, unexpecting self. Looking down at the stack of flashcards he was reading from, Peter barely had a chance to notice Johnny moving closer before he was firmly seated in Peter’s lap, locking his ankles behind Peter’s back. Peter huffed long-sufferingly, dropping the flashcards to rest his arms on Johnny’s thighs, absently drawing light circles with his thumbs.

“Feeling comfortable there, gorgeous?” Peter’s unimpressed voice was at odds with the eager way he turned his mouth up to meet Johnny’s, as hot as the rest of him. They sat and necked like teenagers for more time than Peter was proud of, but something about Johnny still drove him as crazy as ever. The first time they’d kissed, on top of the Statue of Liberty because neither of them were anything short of dramatic, there had been some pretty literal sparks flying. All these years later, Peter still felt like he could see them behind his eyelids when Johnny’s lips met his. Hands cupping the curve of Johnny’s jaw, Peter closed his eyes as Johnny deepened the kiss. When Johnny pulled back to grin semi-maniacally, Peter first suspected this was premeditated.

“Very. So, some guy on my course taught me this… useful way of remembering the four strokes of an engine piston,” Johnny said, trailing wet kisses along Peter’s jawline. Knowing he was walking into a trap, Peter gave Johnny what he was clearly angling for. “And what’s that?”

“Intake stroke,” Johnny breathed into Peter’s neck, sucking a mark at the juncture between his neck and shoulder, “ _suck._ ” Peter groaned, grabbing two handfuls of Johnny’s ass and squeezing, running his arms over every part of Johnny he could reach. Clearly pleased with himself, Johnny grinned smugly down at him from his perch on Peter’s thighs. Peter rolled his eyes, not quite able to suppress his fond smile as he tugged Johnny back down to his lips by his stolen T-shirt.

“Second stroke,” Johnny panted against Peter’s mouth as they both came up for air a while later. Peter, somewhat surprised Johnny was still talking about cars in bed, tightened his arms where they were resting at his hips in a way that he knew drove Johnny to distraction. Despite the hitch in his breath, the involuntary jerk of his hips, Johnny soldiered on, undeterred, “- _ah_ , compression,”. He reached down, trailing an arm down Peter’s chest to ghost over the bulge in his thin pyjama pants, before grinding his palm against it. “ _Squeeze.”_ Arching his back at the unexpected friction, Peter bit down a gasp that would make Johnny insufferable.

“Mmmh, hot stuff, why do I get the feeling you had this planned?” Peter asks, not bothering to hide his snort at Johnny’s _who, me?_ face. He’d seen supervillains look more convincingly innocent. Peter tugged off first Johnny’s, then his own T-shirt before gripping Johnny’s hips tighter than strictly necessary just to watch him flutter his eyes back as Peter ground their cocks together through their pyjamas. Peter traced biting kisses down Johnny’s chest, attempting to delay the point of him caving and letting Johnny finish whatever he’d started. It would be so easy for him to grab Johnny under his thighs and flip them over, take control, maybe web Johnny’s hands to the bedpost… Johnny would let him, happily. It would be as incredible as it always was, he knew. But he also knew that if there was one thinking he, Peter Parker was incapable of doing, it was saying no to his husband, for better or worse. Stealing one last kiss, Peter resigned himself to going along with Johnny’s plan.

* * *

 Quite how they’d ended up here, the back seat of the cherry red car ( _A 1953 Buick Special Riviera Coupé, obviously)_ Johnny was rebuilding, in the garage freely accessible by the rest of the Baxter Building residents Peter wasn’t quite certain, but he felt that under the circumstances, he could be forgiven. _The other two strokes are combustion and exhaust,_ Johnny had informed him, grinning wickedly, _bang and blow. But I might switch things up a bit._ It might be one of the best ideas he’s ever had, Peter decided, combing his hands through golden curls as Johnny did _that thing_ with his mouth that made him weak at the knees, every time. “God, Johnny. You’re so good, baby, so good for me –,” Johnny, preening at the praise, started humming, and once he overcame the hazy feeling of Johnny’s tight, hot throat vibrating, Peter sniggered a little as he recognized the tune. “Drive My Car? Seriously, Johnny?” Johnny slid Peter’s dick out of his mouth with an obscene sounding pop and smirked at him. “Baby, you can drive my car,” he winked.  
Peter grinned back at him as Johnny climbed farther into the car, tugged him in for another searing kiss. “Yes, you’re gonna be a star?” Peter asked, innocently. Johnny laughed brightly into Peter’s mouth, and Peter felt a wave of fondness crash over him. “I’m already a star, Parker, and you know it,” Johnny answered, as Peter stroked his fingers along the contours of his face. And it was true: the public had always adored Johnny, had taken to all the Fantastic Four in a way that they never had to Spider-Man. Peter could still remember being sixteen and mad at the world, furious at how everyone placed the trust he had had to fight tooth and nail for as Spider-Man so easily in the Fantastic Four. It felt like the natural order of things now, for people to love the Fantastic Four. Johnny Storm was just made to be adored, and Peter loved him for it.

“Hey, Johnny,” Peter asked, “this car, is it systematic? Hydromatic? Ultramatic?”

“I am literally begging you to shut up.”

* * *

 

“Hey, idiot,” Johnny said, grin a little deranged, “How about we christen this car the _right_ way?”

 

Johnny had only been riding Peter for a few minutes on the roof of the car when a long arm snaked its way into the garage, fumbling around the benches before grabbing a wrench from a toolbox and disappearing back to what could only be the depths of Reed’s lab. They both froze, staring at each other in a state somewhere between hysteria and terror.

“Did that really just – “

“…”

_“You said everyone was asleep!”_

_“I assumed they were!”_

“We are going to bed, _right now_.”

“But we’re already here! We might as well...”

“I want a divorce.”

* * *

“Pete, I know what I said before but please don’t actually drive my car, I’ve seen you drive.”


End file.
